


Eye Level

by Leticheecopae



Series: Ask the Hunters and the Hunted [2]
Category: Ask-the-hunters-and-the-hunted, Homestuck
Genre: Ask the hunters and the hunted, Athath, Blood, Demonstuck, Gore, Other, Violence, mental trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 06:05:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5774278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leticheecopae/pseuds/Leticheecopae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Nitram’s have been demon hunting since Rufioh can remember. Their family raises the familiars that help others hunt, and on some occasions, they perform the hunts themselves. Even after demons took the life of his mother, Bella, and the lives of so many friends, they have kept hunting. </p>
<p>Tonight, like so many other nights, Shlomi takes Rufioh out to teach him, because one day he won’t be around anymore to protect him and his younger brother. Rufioh doesn’t realize how soon that may be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eye Level

**Author's Note:**

> Requested and written for the wonderful [Rufioh](http://miraculouslollipop.tumblr.com) and [Tavros](http://violentadd.tumblr.com/) from the demonstuck cosplay blog of, [Ask the Hunters and the Hunted](http://demonstuck.co.vu/). This story takes place before the timelines shown on the ATHATH tumblr. 
> 
>  
> 
> [Link to the song in the story.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p_cdXNWD1VY)
> 
>  
> 
> Shlomi belongs to his creator on Athath.

The bat is the only thing keeping Rufioh up. Without its constant click over stoney soil, its sturdy press into the earth, Rufioh would go down. He is reliant on that simple sound as he limps over the underbrush, picking his way over roots and following marks that he and his father had left in the bark. They are dents, just dents, left by their bats to expose enough of the wood beneath the bark to leave a trail home.

’Swing eye level. Don’t want to be left searching while you run.’ It was his father’s rule for everything; marking, fighting, sparring. If they had the shot, they swung at eye level. It would hit the skull or neck, and take the bastards out quick.

He’s walking alone because of that rule.

Rufioh lets out a sob as he stumbles into one of the trees, free hand pushed against one of the marks. It was by his father’s bat. The groove is deep, just above his eyes, and stands out bright white beneath the brown of the bark. He can still only get his marks deep enough to display a shimmer of the white pulp of wood. Rufioh hasn’t had much practice in marking, he’s rarely gone out alone. Leaving a trail is something his father has always done.

His stomach rolls a little as he takes in deep breaths, his head pounding as the world tilts to the side. He’s got a concussion, that much is for sure. If he stops now, there is no way he’s getting back to the cabin. Something oozes down the back of his skull, and he ignores it.

With a grunt, his hand pushes off on the tree, and he is moving again. The click of wood on roots and rocks grounds him, distracts, and he counts in his head in multiples of ten. Ten more and he’ll be at the cabin, just ten more and he’ll find his Dad and Tavros waiting, ten more and it was all just a test that he failed spectacularly. He’ll get a tongue lashing from his father, jabs from his brother, and all in just ten more steps.

It is more than ten steps, but he still ends up at the cabin. It sits among the dozen or so others, looking the same with its dark brown wood and gravel path. The only difference is the single light in the window to lead him home. It is safe in there, the doors and windows warded with clear nail polish on the outside and salt infused chalk within. Rufioh can see Tavros waiting by the window, his half attempted mohawk poking up from the windowsill like the butt of a duck.

Ten more steps and he’ll be to the door.

He’d rather walk a thousand more than go through it alone.

Wind ripples through the trees, chilling the moisture on the back of his neck. He can’t tell if what rolls down his spine is blood or sweat, but it makes him shiver nonetheless. A harsher gust pushes through, and somewhere he hears chimes. High, tinkling, laughing chimes from one of the cabins in the area. They spur him forwards. The happy sound is too reminiscent of something ugly.

The bat makes heavy thuds as he walks up the cabin steps, his eyes downcast, focussing on the seam between porch and door. He can hear a few of the familiars shuffling around inside, and sees movement in the window out of the corner of his eye. He hopes it is one of the pups, moving to great him, and that Tavros stays asleep and blissfully unaware for a few more hours. If he does, then Rufioh can put his own head down on a hard pillow with a few shots of ny-quil to make himself sleep dreamlessly. At least, he prays for that when he reaches for the doorknob. He’ll set an alarm first, of course. Can’t go to sleep with a concussion for longer than a couple of hours; chance he won’t wake up if he does.

Under his hand, the knob turns without his own force, and he finds himself standing before Tavros. His brother’s blue eyes blink away sleep, searching over Rufioh’s bloody face and body as he stands at the threshold. The gash on Rufioh’s head itches, the scratch marks over his arms burn beneath his sweater, and his hand aches around the bat.

Tavros is rumpled, it is the only way Rufioh can think of him. His little brother’s hair is going limp, his clothing is thoroughly wrinkled, and even his eyes look creased in the gentle light that illuminates his back. Behind Tavros, a couple of the dogs look out, noses sniffing as they try to locate their fellow hounds.

“Rufioh,” Tavros says very quietly as his eyes focus. The look to Rufioh’s side, behind him, and then past him. “What happened?” he asks, and there is the smallest lacing of panic in the words. “Where are Moo and Scart? Where’s Aba?”

The bat doesn’t support him anymore. It slips on the cabin porch as Rufioh sags, his knees giving out and his brain turns to static. Tavros does little to stop his fall in his sleepy and confused state, hands barely getting around his chest before Rufioh takes them both down. The harsh hit to Rufioh’s skull is welcome, the resounding shock wave helping his brain short out fully.

Wet noses, panicked words, and shaking hands follow him into the dark.

—————

The resounding smack of a bat on wood echoes dully as Shlomi leaves another dent for them to find their way home. They’ve been walking for about a half hour, following the dogs as they lead them towards the demonic presence on the farmland. For weeks there had been mentions of suicides in the woods, people having been found jibbering behind the rentable cabins, and one or two disappearances. The Nitram’s had managed to rent a cabin for the last weekend that the farm would be opened, the bad PR having been too much for it to keep its cabins full.

“Where do you think this thing is hiding?” Rufioh asks as they make their way through the underbrush, his words puffing out into small silver clouds. They left the paths a while ago, veering off to tromp through the low bushes and tall grass, Moo and Scrat dodging around trees and under logs. The black and white splotches of Moo the border-collie’s are easy to see in the dark, leading Shlomi and his son as they pick through the woods. Scrat is a gold shimmer now and again, blending into the tall grass and appearing only when he jumps over logs.

“Abandoned cabin maybe?” Shlomi replies as he raises his bat and lets out another crack. The wood on wood sounds like a branch breaking in the dark. “Old farm like this, probably many, many places hide, little bull.” The hebrew words are worn and warm, making Rufioh feel almost safe in the dark.

“But close enough to the cabins to get to the people, right Aba?” Rufioh asks as he follows his father.

His father looks over his shoulder, his face barely discernable in the withered star light coming through the trees. “Very good,” he tells him with a smile.

It is a long ways off from being Rufioh’s first hunt, but the small nod of approval from his father still makes his chest swell just a little. Getting a smile or a pat on the back in the middle of a hunt isn’t necessarily hard to get, but there is a warmth to it that has always made Rufioh push hard to do his best during them. Truthfully, if he doesn’t it could mean death, but having his father smile at the end always makes the bloody meetings feel less severe.

“Now, what kind of demon do you think we dealing with?” Shlomi asks as they keep walking.

“Emotionally manipulative,” Rufioh says. “Would explain the suicides, people having their minds corrupted, possibly the disappearances if the thing got them to jump down a hole or something.”

Shlomi stops to clasp a hand on Rufioh’s shoulder. “Those my thoughts as well,” he tells him before reaching up and rubbing the left red stripe of Rufioh’s tri-hawk. “So,” he begins as he let’s his hand drop. “Have you-”

The quiet bark interrupts them, and both Nitram’s turn towards the dogs. Without a word, they get lower to the ground, almost crawling as they make their way towards the sound. After a few yards, they come to the end of the tree line, and find themselves on the edge of a wide field. Just before them sits an old, collapsing barn. Both of the dogs move around the perimeter of the building, sniffing and searching for demon.

Shlomi makes a sound similar to a whippoorwill, and the dogs come running back. His hands quickly pick up dirt, and he rubs it into her coat, matting it down. Rufioh does the same thing to Scrat. The dogs will go in first, looking like strays, before giving a bark to let the two of them know that it is either clear, or if they should come in bats swinging.

“Hunt,” Rufioh commands when his father gives him a nod, letting Rufioh take the lead.

The dogs quickly trot off towards the barn, both with their ears down and noses out. Rufioh’s eyes stay locked on Scrat as he turns around the corner, tail between his legs. Something cold settles into his stomach. Minutes pass.

“Do you think we should have gone with them?” he asks softly, ears straining for the bark. “This feels…”

“Wrong,” Shlomi finishes with a nod. “Let’s g-”

The high pitch scream of a dog cuts through the dark.

“Shit,” Rufioh grunts as he takes off. A syllable of distress comes from behind him, but then the sound of his father’s pounding feet are following and Rufioh finds himself spurred faster.

Turning the corner, he finds Moo on the ground. At least, he finds most of her.

“Damn it,” Rufioh bites out as he looks around. “Scrat?!”

“Quiet,” his father hisses.

“Too late for that,” comes a glee filled voice. Rufioh swings as something comes flying out of the dark at him. On impulse he swings, and it connects with the wood of his bat. Despite the weight behind it, Rufioh manages to deflect the thing to the side. It flashes gold before it hits the ground, and Rufioh freezes when he realizes that it is Scrat; his body eviscerated and hollow. It becomes even clearer when a light suddenly erupts from the inside of the barn.

Rufioh turns to look at a lantern that sits unattended and glowing, winking at him with secrets only the flames know. The hard shove to his back startles him and sends him stumbling before familiar, thin arms wrap around him and keep him from going down. He and his father stumble into the barn.

“Oooo, nice job,” the demon says as they both turn and find the demon standing in the doorway. Its hands drip red as it runs them through its light hair. In the fire light, Rufioh can’t make out the exact color, but the blood leaves definite streaks in it. “Few have been able to dodge that little trick.” It grins at them with white, even, sharp teeth in a face that is purely androgenous. Whether or not it is the things real face depends on what it wants them to see. It wouldn’t matter what it looked like though, Rufioh always sees demons as ugly.

“What about you, little chicken?” It asks as it comes towards them, goat like eyes locked on Rufioh. The color seems to glow in the light of the single flame, and makes Rufioh feel like he is shrinking in them. “Are you as fast as your Papa?” It shoots towards him, and Rufioh acts on instinct, hands coming up and bat flying out.

He doesn’t swing fast enough.

“Missed me, missed me, now you gotta kiss me,” the thing sings high and happy as it moves quicker than Rufioh can see. A second ago it had been in front of him, androgynous features twisted into a smile and goat like eyes focussed on his soul. Now it’s singing in his ear.

“Duck!” The Hebrew is welcome to Rufioh’s ears, and he ducks down quickly. The demon does not, and his father’s powerful swing heads straight for the things head. It catches the bat easily, twists, and jerks it from his father’s hands.

“Oh, so you know more than a few phrases,” it says as it turns towards Shlomi. “Are you fluent?” the demon asks as they spin the bat in their hands. Shlomi takes a step back. Without his weapon he has little chance, and the demon knows it.

Shlomi starts to move one way, Rufioh goes the other, and they circle the demon between them. It is a simple tactic, but it’s all they’ve got now. If Scrat and Moo were still alive, this would have been the time for them to pounce, take the thing off guard, and let Rufioh get a swing in.

“I’m a bit rusty in that tongue,” the demon says as their eyes follow Shlomi. “Mind if I freshen up?” They swing the bat with a laugh. They aren’t close enough to Shlomi to do any damage, and instead a nearby beam takes the hit. A thunder like crack echoes in the old barn when the wood connects, and splinters fly. The demon doesn’t even flinch, their arm taking the vibration without issue. Rufioh swallows as he watches the cracked bat tap against the demon’s skull, giving the impression that the demon is concentrating hard.

“Do you have a dictionary?” it asks, its pronunciation perfect and clear.

His father does not answer. Shlomi’s face is pinched with nervousness, but manages to stay mostly calm as the demon rocks gently on its heals, following his movements. Rufioh keeps a close eye on its back.

“I do wish I remembered more Hebrew,” it says with a sigh. “The last time I heard it was from a lovely woman. Now what was her name…?” They tap the bat on their skull again, exactly where Rufioh will be swinging.

Shlomi pauses and speaks. “Let’s see if you know this,” he says carefully, keeping the demons attention as Rufioh moves. “Your eyes look like putrid shit.”

“Oh come now, that wasn’t pretty,” the demon whines. “When she said it, it sounded pretty. All begging and pleading. They had done quite a number on her by the time I saw her, even let me join in a bit, but I can’t seem to remember her name?”

Its back is completely to Rufioh. He has the shot.

Rufioh moves forwards slowly, feet attempting to be quiet as they move over rotting hay and old packed earth. He sets up, body winding up for the hit, and his eyes stay locked at eye level; right at the base of the demon’s skull.

The demon snaps its fingers as Rufioh pulls back his arms. “Bella Nitram, that was it,” it say just before Rufioh goes for the hit. “Pretty little Bella with her pretty long braids.”

Rufioh’s hands still as his body spasms on its own accord.

There is a peak of a goat like eye over the demon’s shoulder and the flash of a smile. “They let me choke her with them.”

Rufioh’s brain stalls and spins as it tries to process the information. The thing had hurt his mother? Tortured her? The few seconds give it time to strike with a swift kick.

The kick connects hard with Rufioh’s stomach, sending him flying back. His body slams against some sort of stall door, the old wood letting out a scream as his back and head connect. Pain laces through him, his vision swims, and when he hits the ground he rolls purely on instinct. Behind him he hears the dry scream of wood on wood followed by his father yelling his name.

“Oh do shut up, it’s not like I want to end our fun so early,” the demon says as there is a cry of pain. “Want to see if the rest of the family is as fun as little Bella was.”

Rufioh gets up and lurches for the door. He rattles it, pulls, but there is a bolt of some kind on the other side. He quickly moves to the window in the wall that is cut off by horizontal bars. He shoves his hand through them, trying to reach the bolt, but it is out of reach. Another pained sound and a thud, and Rufioh turns in time to watch his father slide down the dry, cracking wood of the barn. A stream of blood trickles into the stubble of his greying beard, and a knife falls from his hand. Rufioh can’t tell if it is the one he gave his father, or Tavros’s.

“Aba!” Rufioh yells as he rattles the bars. They are loose, but not enough that he can get them out. Stepping back, he looks around. He’s in a cattle pen, a holding cell just big enough for one. His head snaps up to look for a gap, a way for farmers to get in and out when the door is shut, but there isn’t one. Maybe at one time there had been, but the sunken upper floor of the barn sits atop the topmost rung; an awaiting avalanche of sharp wood and nails. Rufioh can see pounds upon pounds of rotten hay between the sunken planks, the golden strands now green and black with mold and mildew. If that falls on him, he isn’t getting out.

“What do you say now holy man?” he hears from across the room. “Give an old student a lesson? I haven’t had one since your wife.”

“Don’t you fucking touch him,” Rufioh yells into the room as he rushes up against the bars. The demon has his father by his jacket, holding him up so that it can look into his father’s glazed eyes. The demon has concussed Shlomi, Rufioh can tell that from here, and fear slithers somewhere down deep.

“Oh I wouldn’t dream of it,” the demon says over its shoulder. Some of its features have changed, rounding off, becoming more feminine. It’s hair looks a bit darker, though still blood stained, and there is a familiarity to it now that makes Rufioh want to sink against the other side of the pen and scream. Instead he grits his teeth and pushes at the bars. This thing could just as easily be lying. It is emotionally manipulative, it’ll use whatever it can against them to get out alive.

“He’s been touching himself for so long, would be a shame to break his little chastity streak.” The demon gives another little laugh before it drops Shlomi to the ground. Rufioh grits his teeth as he waits for the death strike, the hard kick to his father’s skull. It doesn’t come, instead the thing before him goes pale, misty, and he catches a glimpse of something horrifying as the clothing it wears simply drops to the floor before it disappears. He’s never seen a demon do that before, and it sets his skin on fire with fear.

His hands ache as he watches his father’s unmoving body, the cloud of his breath the only thing letting him know he is still alive. Minutes inch by, and Rufioh’s hands finally start to relax. Did it leave? Had it thought it had already killed his father? Was it going to make him watch his Aba die on the floor of the rotten old barn?

“Aba?” he calls softly.

Shlomi sits up suddenly at a speed that makes Rufioh jump.

“Aba? Aba are you okay?” he calls out.

His father gets up slowly, body creaking from a multitude of old and new injuries. He stands, cracks his back, his neck, and he faces his son. The eyes of a goat stare over at Rufioh, and his stomach drops.

“Ah, there we are. It’s like slipping into a pool of knowledge.” The voice is his fathers, but the words sound wrong. “Though you know so little about my kind. Thinking I was just an emotion manipulator, how quaint.” A laugh very unlike his father’s bubbles out between his lips and rings like chimes through the room. “No wonder you two have been so easy, you’ve only ever dealt with the weakest of my brethren.” His father makes a tisking sound that has always been reserved for when Rufioh or Tavros messes up something small. Rufioh swallows against the tightening in his throat.

“What are you talking about?” Rufioh asks, hoping he might be able to keep it talking.

“Oh, you know what I am. You and your Aba both, though you just thought of me as a nightmare, something your mother would warn you about.” It smiles at Rufioh, turning his father’s warm smile smug. “She should have taken her own advice.”

“Where is she?” Rufioh asks voice thick. They had always known there were demons strong enough to possess people, it was pretty much a given, but there had been no indication that this one would be able to. All of the warnings had been about one just fucking with campers, people getting hurt, showing up dead. A series of suicides that made no sense.

“Oh, she’s very very dead, but you all already knew that. Not that your little brother would really care much. Does Tavros even remember her?” The demon strides around the room nonchalantly, flexing Shlomi’s hands and patting down his jacket.

Rufioh grits his teeth. Shit, it knows about Tavros.

“I’ll take that as a no. I wonder what it would be like to slip into him, though I quite like it in here,” the demon replies as they begin to roll up Shlomi’s sleeves. “So many memories to poke around in, thoughts about the two of you and all of those little friends of yours. So much pride and so many disappointments.”

“Get out of him,” Rufioh says gruffly as he watches it roll its eyes around as if looking at a thousand tiny screens.

It ignores him. “Do you want to know what he thinks about you?” he asks.

“I said get the fuck out of him!” Rufioh yells into the room, one hand hitting against the bar hard. It lets out a dull ringing and his palm throbs. He doesn’t want to hear another word from this lying bastard.

The demon tisks again. “Your brother really is brighter one.” The speech pattern slides into his father’s, and the words make Rufioh’s stomach curl. “And your hair is ridiculous. It draws much attention, my son.”

“You’re not him,” Rufioh grits out.

“No,” the demon says with a nod. “You’re right, I’m not, but I am in his head with him, and I have to ask, did you really think he was okay with those bright colors?”

The question startles Rufioh. He’s had this hair style for almost two years now, there is no way Shlomi would have let him have it this long without saying something. Right?

“I saw those shocks of red from a mile away,” the demon points out as it reaches into Shlomi’s inner jacket pockets. It pulls out a set of reading glasses, and tosses them to the floor before its heel comes down. The sound of crushing glass fills the quiet room before it speaks again. “Now one or two stripes, that’s not bad, but three? You look like a cock out of the hen house.”

“You’re lying, he would have told me.” Gears turn in his head as he says it. Was it true? Did his father really not like the amount of color in his hair? Wouldn’t he have told him before now if he did? True he had mentioned different hairstyles before, but he had ever explicitly said he disliked it.

“If you doubt me, then look in his suitcase,” the demon says as he pulls an item from the inner pocket of Shlomi’s jacket. “Plenty of black dye waiting for you.”

Rufioh grits his teeth at the insinuation. His brain wants to focus on the words, but he is torn away from the thought as his brain processes what has been removed from his father’s jacket. It is the knife Rufioh had bought him, the teeth jagged and tooth like. It was the brother blade to the one laying on the floor. The other is smooth and sharp, meant for slashing and stabbing. Rufioh’s is meant for slicing and flaying.

The demon looks the blade over with a smile. “Very nice,” it says as it holds out Shlomi’s arm. Rufioh’s stomach drops.

“No,” he breathes as he watches the blade come down and across, slicing over his father’s wrist. Blood bubbles up deep red and slick, oil like on his father’s skin. “No! Stop it!” he screams as the demon starts to saw away, moving the blade like a bow over a violin’s strings.

“Shhh, shh,” the demon says as the blade slowly makes archs up his father’s arm.

“Dad!” Rufioh screams. “Dad!” He feels dizzy as he clings to the bars, and he can feel blood still trickling down the back of his neck in slow lines. He goes to take another deep breathe, throat ready for the scream.

The demon starts to sing.

“Just shut your mouth and I’ll sing you a lullaby,” comes sweetly from between his father’s lips, and it makes Rufioh freeze. “Back to your years of loo-li lai-lay.” Bile rises in Rufioh’s throat. That’s his mother’s song.

The demon smiles as the knife swipes move upwards, and its voice lilts with the tune. “I’ll sing you a song about poor little Bella, she screamed out in pain as her blood did flow.” The notes are perfectly on key, harmonious, and nothing like how his mother would sing it. The demon’s bladed bow plays up his father’s arm easily. “They took her down, that unfortunate mother, with shackles and chains at her head and her feet.”

“You’re lying!” Rufioh screams. “You all lie, everyone of you!” His words don’t deter the song.

“She kicked and she screamed at her misfortune. What cruelty and harshness she did meet.” The knife drags hard and deep over the center of his father’s forearm as the demon sings, and blood gushes forth as it draws out the last word.

“Please, stop,” Rufioh begs as it continues. He rattles the bars, tries the door again, and comes back. He looks at the ceiling, searches, and finds no way out.

“She’s not with the angels, watching over you. There’s no Aba to show you the way.

No one to guard you, and keep you, safe from all harm. Loo-li, loo-li, lai-lay.” The words are melodic and almost soothing in tone as they come from Shlomi’s mouth.

“Stop it.” Rufioh’s voice comes out as a sob as the knife makes it to the crook of Shlomi’s elbow, sawing into it while the demon hums out the tune. Each swipe of the knife leaves ragged cuts that blood wells up from, running down the man’s arm in fast rivulets as it bites easily through the veins and arteries presented. Rufioh can tell already that his father is dead, there is no way to fix wounds like that, no way to stop the blood. A few more minutes and there won’t be even enough for his heart to pump. It makes his stomach twist and bile rise on his tongue while his heart tries to hang onto hope and his brain bats it down into reality. His father isn’t leaving here tonight.

“Stop it!” he screams when the white of the elbow joint presents itself.

The demon stops the knife, but they do not stop singing. Its goat like eyes look at Rufioh as it steps forward through the pool of blood on the floor, the now worthless arm hanging by Shlomi’s side. “I do doubt that these words will bring you happiness, But even right now, at the end of his days; Aba’s fighting so hard, he’s trying to keep you. Cries like your mother cried, don’t take me away.”

The demon comes to the wood door, and with Shlomi’s good hand, jerks it forwards by the handle. It comes off easily, and flies into the room.

Still singing, the demon enters. “She’s rotting away, and can’t watch over you. Aba’s going down the same way.” Rufioh’s eyes flash around as he tries to find a way out. He can’t go over the pen, if he tries he’ll be buried.

“No one to help you, and keep you safe from all harm,” it sings as it walks towards Rufioh, a grin on his father’s features. It raises the knife, voice making its words crisp and clear as it keeps the songs tune.

Rufioh looks up at the ceiling as the demon stands before him, the blood from his father’s arm nothing more than a drip. “Loo-li, loo-li, lai-lay,” it sings out. Rufioh knows he won’t be able to beat this thing, not with its speed. Tears start to tinge his eyes as he realizes that he’s going to die.

Rufioh waits for the last line, and when it comes, it isn’t the loo-li, loo-li, lai-lay he is expecting.

“Tavros will die the same way,” comes instead.

Rufioh decides he can’t die.

The idea comes quickly as the blade comes up high, flashing in the fire light. Rufioh swings his bat. It doesn’t go towards the knife, but upwards, and he hits the concaving ceiling as hard as he can. The second he feels the hit reverberate up his arms, Rufioh throws himself backward, and listens to the surprised syllable that makes its way from the demon’s throat before the ceiling falls onto it.

Rufioh huddles in the corner, listening to the wood, hay, and debris come down on his father. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches the figure get buried. As soon as the avalanche stops, Rufioh gains his footing as best he can. The pen is now filled with old, slick hay, and he has to dig his heels in hard to keep from sliding.

Silence settles in around them.

His father surfaces a moment later, sputtering and spitting out hay and wood, his face scratched red, though no blood comes from the wounds.

“Love you, Aba,” Rufioh says.

The demon spins to face Rufioh, and the moment the red of his eyes appears, Rufioh swings high. He keeps his face locked on his father’s, watching the target, following through, seeing the red leak away from the irises as brown replaces it. Rufioh’s shoulders try to lock, his waist tries to stop, but the energy has only one way to go. The approving smile only makes it half way across Shlomi’s face before Rufioh’s bat wipes it away and knocks Shlomi to the ground. Rufioh is left staring at blood misted air and listens to the sound of something slick splatter against the wall of the pen.

The bat falls from his hands, and Rufioh follows his father’s body down into the debris, knees and forearms landing hard on old wood and hay. Splinters stab into his jacket, scratching at his arms as his eyes fall upon his father. One kindly brown eyes lays upon his cheek, his head dented in like a tree with the white bone peaking through skin and hair. Something pinkish oozes from his skull.

“Aba,” comes airlike from his lungs. A hand reaches for his father and falls.

“Missed me.”

Rufioh looks up between the bars and sees the demon standing nude behind them. Its face still holds traces of his father, and Rufioh feels rage welling up inside him.

“Do you want to know what his last thoughts were?” it asks as Rufioh stands, bat in hand. There are tears on his cheeks. It mouth grins wide. “I’m so proud, little bull.”

Rufioh swings, the bat sliding between the bars. It connects with nothing but air.

“Such a lovely swing. I doubt he even had time to feel it when you connected,” it says somewhere.

“No,” Rufioh says as he stands in the molding hay and splintered wood. “No, no, you did this. I-” he can’t say it as tears go down his face and his vision blurs in the lantern light. This isn’t his fault, it isn’t , it… Rufioh lets out a wail as he swings at the bars and listens to them ring out tones into the room. He hits, and hits, and waits for the laugh. He knows there will be a laugh. That is how it happens, how it happened. There had been a laugh, but singing comes instead.

“May you bring love and may you bring happiness. Be loved in return to the end of your days.

Now fall off to sleep, I’m not meaning to keep you, I’ll just sit for a while and sing loo-li, lai-lay.” It is off key, soft, and he tosses his head. “Mom?” he asks as he looks for the singing. The barn looks off, the walls slanting. He had done more structural damage than he thought.

“May there always be angels to watch over you, To guide you each step of the way. To guard you and keep you safe from all harm. Loo-li, loo-li, lai-lay.” That’s not his mother’s voice. The room is swimming.

“Please, I need him to stay,” it finishes. Rufioh finds himself staring at the back of his eye lids.

“Tavros?” he asks as he blinks. His body aches, his head throbs, and there are warm patches all over him.

“I’m here,” Tavros says quickly, his voice thick as his hands find one of Rufioh’s. “I’m here.”

Rufioh lets out a slight sob as he squeezes the hands back. His brain spins as he tries to make sense of what is happening. It had been just a memory, his brain forcing him to relive his past.

“I didn’t think you’d wake up,” Tavros says as Rufioh’s other hand finds a furry nose and strokes it.

“How long have I been out?” Rufioh asks, throat thick.

“A few hours,” Tavros tells him. “I’ve been trying to wake you up. Didn’t want to shake you too much, so I’ve been singing that song of mom’s.”

Rufioh gives a wince, and turns his head away from his brother. His face feels hot.

“Dad still hasn’t come back yet,” Tavros adds softly.

A heavy silence sits between the brothers, and it weighs on Rufioh’s chest. “Is he with Moo and Sc-”

“They’re not coming back, Tavros,” Rufioh says softly as he looks at Peanut, the smallest of the dogs. She is looking at him with round, dark eyes.

The hands wrapped around Rufioh’s fingers dissapear. “What?” Tavros asks softly.

“They’re all dead,” Rufioh whispers as tears leak from his eyes. “Aba’s dead.” He can’t look at Tavros, he can barely look at Peanut. She was Moo’s runt, Tavros’s pick. Another orphan in the room.

“What happened?” Tavros’s voice is shaking.

Rufioh closes his eyes against the sound. He wishes he could close his ears. “It killed him,” is all he says. “Took the knife I got him, and killed him.”

The only reason Rufioh knows Tavros cries is because of his ears. He refuses to open his eyes, to open his mouth. He wills himself back into oblivion.

“Did you kill it?” echoes through his mind.

His consciousness stirs to answer. His heart tells him silence will be enough.

—-

“Rufioh, wake up.”

The shake to Rufioh’s arm does little to rouse him. “Rufioh, come on, I need you,” Tavros say. “I can’t carry Aba’s body by myself.” The words are soft, and wake Rufioh better than a bucket of ice water.

He opens his eyes and finds his brother standing next to the bed, his jacket on and hood up. In his arms are some sheets, a tarp, and what looks like a pair of his father’s jeans and a sweater. “The sun will be up soon,” he says. “We need to get him now. His body…” He clears his throat. “His body isn’t supposed to be left alone.”

Rufioh’s heart twists. How could he have forgotten that? They were never to leave a body alone before burial. The Makara’s had always made a joke about never turning their backs on a body. The joke sits heavy like ash in his throat. It doesn’t feel so funny anymore.

“Think you can stand?” Tavros asks as Rufioh pulls himself upwards. The room tilts, swims, and he has to lean forwards with his elbows on his knees. A few deep breaths and he gets it to stay as a gentle wave.

“Yeah,” he manages, throat feeling dry. He coughs, and finds himself looking at a glass of water.

“Drink it,” Tavros tells him. “All of it.”

Rufioh takes it and does as he is told. There is an herbal flavor to it, probably something to steady his nerves. It leaves an acrid aftertaste in his throat as he hands back the cup. His head throbs as he shifts on the cabin bed, his body aching from the bruises that no doubt litter his skin. He’s still in the same clothing, but his sleeves have been rolled up and his wrists wrapped. Around his head he can feel the pressure of a bandage.

Neither of them say anything as Rufioh stands, wobbles, and rights himself. He’s concussed, that’s for damn sure, but like hell he’s going to have Tavros drag their father through the forest on his own. Tavros hands Rufioh his now clean bat, shoulders his own, and heads to the bedroom door.

“Lily, Mathis,” Tavros says, and two dogs dart forward, their names the only words Tavros needs to get them moving. Peanut gets up from the foot of the bed, and Rufioh watches Tavros’s head drop. “Peanut…stay here,” he says softly before he heads outside. Rufioh looks at Peanut for only a moment before turning away. He stares at the floor, and straight into his father’s mussed suitcase. In it he sees old sweaters and jeans, a dob kit, and a little white box. He starts to lean in, sees ‘ack’ in bold letters on it.

Your hair is ridiculous… He knocks the top of the suitcase shut with his bat, breathing labored as the world tilts.

“Rufioh, are you okay?” Tavros calls.

“Fine,” he manages to get out through the tight walls of his throat. He stumbles away from the suitcase while using his bat at a walking stick. Peanut whimpers after him. He doesn’t look back.

It’s still dark out, but barely. To the east, it looks like the sky has gained the first tinges of color. They head in that direction, following the path until Tavros picks up on their father’s marks, his pen flashlight leading the way. The further they walk, the brighter it gets, and Rufioh finds himself having to blink against it. How long was he asleep?

“Oh no,” he hears a few moments later.

“What?” Rufioh asks as he squints his eyes, his pupils taking in too much light. The answer is the smell of smoke and the thudding of feet.

Rufioh opens his eyes, stares into the trees, and they confirm what his nose knows. There is a fire, a large one, and the bat marks are leading them right to it.

With a stumbling jolt, Rufioh takes off after Tavros, feet fighting to stay upright as his hands clutch at trees. His vision swims, and his eyes burn, but he doesn’t look away from the dancing light coming through the trees. The winds brings forth smoke, and he is finally forced to shut his eyes tight. The dogs bark into the night, and he follows the sound and the light behind his eyelids.

How could I leave him? Rufioh thinks. You never leave a loved one unburied.

Coming to the edge of the field, Rufioh stumbles to a stop as his eyes drink in the flames. High, red-orange flames that reach for the sky, falsifying the sun’s rays. Tavros stands before the burning barn, the wrappings he held having fallen to the ground.

“Rufioh,” he says with a shaking voice. “Was…was Aba in there?” His eyes are round and wide like Peanut’s when he looks at Rufioh. The blue reflects the flames.

Rufioh doesn’t respond, he just takes a step forward. Ten more steps and he’ll be to the door, ten more steps and his father’s body will be inside. Ten more steps and he can join his father in death. He doesn’t realize he is running until Tavros’s arms are wrapped around him, seemingly muted screaming fighting to overthrow the crackling of burning flames in his ears.

“Aba!” is being screamed somewhere, and from the pain in his throat, he thinks it might be him. Rufioh’s knees fail him again, and Tavros manages to get him to the ground safely this time. Rufioh screams as Tavros holds him back, arms tight around his waist and chest as Tavros’s smaller body shakes.

“Rufioh, stop, please,” he begs as Rufioh thrashes.

Rufioh’s hands dig into the earth tearing up clumps as he screams into the flames.

“Don’t leave me alone,” his brother sobs. “Please, don’t leave me alone.”

Rage has never left him so quickly as he goes slack in Tavros’s arms. He wants to say something to him. Maybe ‘I’m sorry’, ‘I shouldn’t have left him’, ‘I killed him’, ‘I won’t leave you’. Instead he says nothing as he sits staring at the flames.

He doesn’t move when Tavros pulls away shakily and picks up his bat. Rufioh’s eyes barely twitch to watch Tavros walk as close to the flames as he can get. His silhouette is stark against the light as the bat begins to move in a practiced pattern. Rufioh knows what it is without seeing it, the Star of David recognizable by movement alone to him.

Over the flames he hears Tavros’s voice. “Lay down your head and I’ll sing you a lullaby, Back to the years of loo-li lai-lay,” his brother starts, and the tears run thick as blood down Rufioh cheeks. He looks away from Tavros as he sings, stares at his hands and the dark earth that cakes them. He lifts them to his hair and drags it through the red on either side, pushing it down and making it dark.

“And I’ll sing you to sleep and I’ll sing you tomorrow,” Rufioh whispers along with is brother’s voice. “Bless you with love as their blood did flow.” His voice cracks as he grips his hair tight in his hands. As Tavros sings Rufioh sobs. This is his mother’s song, her lullaby that she sang them to sleep with, his father’s death dirge; and yet here Rufioh sits near the flames of his father’s cremation, unable to remember her words.


End file.
